


oh, to be a teenager

by gracieandjune



Series: garreg mach hs!au [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Black Eagles are debate team, Character Study, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd Needs a Hug, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Cindered Shadows DLC Spoilers, Locker Room, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slice of Life, it’s a hot mess, slow burn... not really, spoilers for all routes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28583841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracieandjune/pseuds/gracieandjune
Summary: Claude is hot for Byleth, the entire football team is gay, and the debate team is an absolute mess.Senior year is about to get interesting.—A collection of snippets from life at your self-indulgent Garreg Mach High School.latest: Sometimes, Caspar really hates the debate team. Oh, and he’s on it.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: garreg mach hs!au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094447
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	1. this is what mondays are like

**Author's Note:**

> Claude shows up to Gov for once. It’s as chaotic as you’d expect.

“Being unbearably handsome doesn’t make me a forensics expert—goddess, this guy is pretentious as shit.”

Claude reads off the script he’s balancing in his left hand, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat with his right. The force is nearly enough to knock over the cup of coffee perched on the console, but he is _not_ about to replace that. Thankfully, he saves it from collapsing onto his arm and glances back down at the papers that now rest in his lap. Goddess, he’s been staring at this script for the past half hour, and his brain still refuses to fully comprehend the level of douchebag for this character.

He takes a sip of his coffee, dragging a hand over his face harshly in a last ditch attempt to wake up before opening the door. No use trying anymore, really. Once he’s out of the vehicle, he starts walking towards the main building, trying to balance the coffee and the script in the same hand.

As a senior at Garreg Mach High School and a long time member of the drama club, if two years can be considered a long time, he should be used to this mixed feeling of excitement and dread. The first read-through of a show is always the most entertaining, seeing everyone fumble around and hearing some of his favorite lines read out loud for the first time. If he’s being honest, though, he hates reading _his_ lines out _and_ having to keep some sort of order as the club president. He's definitely worried about that. Oddly enough, something about this year feels... different.

_The student council meeting is the difference_ , he decides. He promised Hilda that he'd at least go to the meeting with her, but he knows that she wants him to run. Hell, all his friends want him to, if only to get their club more funding. They could barely afford all the scripts they needed for the fall play, and he can't even imagine how they'll get enough money for the spring musical with how much it’ll cost.

But now isn’t the time to think about it. Instead, he shifts his attention towards the busy hallways, squinting for a glimpse of that bright pink head of hair visible in any crowd. He scoots around, ducking behind a wall of lockers. So far, she hasn’t noticed anything yet. Claude grins, darting here and there until he’s right behind her, and then—

"Boo!"

Hilda shrieks as she jumps backward, and the books she’s carrying nearly fly out of her hands. A couple students glance her way after hearing her, but she glares at them wordlessly. It’s mostly the norm for their public high school, and as there’s nothing for them to point and laugh at for them they leave her be. Even better, Claude is laughing his ass off in the corner.

“Claude!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… oh, goddess, you should’ve seen your face—“

“You are _so_ mean, y’know that?”

She coughs awkwardly, looking up to him with a pout. Ah, that’s her _You Made Hilda Mad_ face, the one she puts up when she’s annoyed, but not actually mad. He knows this isn’t the sort of attention she wants to attract in the morning, but there’s nothing stopping him. Besides, she’s put up with him before. _Maybe she’s half-asleep too_ , he muses.

He nearly trips over himself when Hilda starts to drag him down the hallway ( _damn_ , she’s stronger than she looks). “Whoa, hey, watch it!” he exclaims, shooting her a glance. “I have coffee, damnit.”

“I can see that,” she retorts, her eyes wandering to the papers in his hand. “ _And_ I can see you’ve been procrastinating on solo rehearsals … again.”

“Says the queen of procrastination herself. At least I _read_ my lines.”

Hilda laughs, but she doesn’t deny it as she takes a peek down at his script, squinting in an attempt to find even the slightest imperfection. “At least _I_ don’t spill coffee on them.” 

"Teach would have my head if I got coffee on this,” Claude groans. “We can barely afford enough scripts for everyone in the cast this year."

“Alright, alright, Mr. Leader Man.”

He takes another sip, his mind wandering to thoughts of their director. When he transferred to Garreg Mach in the beginning of his junior year, her class was one of the only he actually enjoyed. Ms. Byleth Eisner was really something else. How does he describe it? It’s like they were connected on a spiritual level. At least, enough for her and Hilda to convince him to join theatre in the first place.

As soon as Byleth took over, the stage felt renewed. All of a sudden, the club was more organized, and it seemed as though the cast became ever more cohesive with her presence. As amazing as she was, however, the budget still posed a problem. Garreg Mach is stingy with their money, that’s what it is. At this rate, they’ll be lucky to even advertise, much less pull an audience.

Speaking of, Hilda’s staring at him again. The bat of her eyelashes and snooty purse of her lips tells him she’s making fun of him (‘ _Aww, someone’s got a crush’_ , she’d say, and he’d push her face with his whole hand), but she isn’t worth responding to right now.

"Do we _have_ to go to class? We're seniors, and it's Government. Neither of us are applying anywhere for political science."

“Claude, they’re gonna cut you if you keep skipping class, especially this early in the year.” Hilda snickers. “Look, I would _love_ to ditch and call it a morning because politics are stuffy, but if you’re really gonna run, you should have a decent reputation! _Budget,_ Claude.”

“You know that’s the only reason why I’m running, right? If anyone else would help us out, or if _you_ would run, I’d rather skip the meeting and help Teach set up. And she wouldn’t cut me from the show just for skipping class, Hilda, she likes me too much.” 

“ _You_ like her too much,” she snickers back, shifting her weight on one foot as she peers through the doors. “Admit it, lover boy, you’re absolutely _smitten_ . And besides, campaigning is so much _work_ ! I could get all the boys to do it for me, but what does that make me, Claude? And all those _responsibilities_ ! Do you _want_ me to die from piling up my schedule with busy work? No thank you!”

She’s right; it really is the other way around. When Byleth came in to replace the missing chemistry and drama advisors, he fell headfirst. What he isn’t going to do, however, is let Hilda get the benefit of the doubt, and so he lets her finish her ramble instead.

"Anyway,” he muses, “if I get cut from the show, they'll make _Lorenz_ play Professor Plum. It's Clue, we need a snooty butler." 

“Oh, _ew_ , yeah. Even if he does look like a plum, he needs to cut his hair. That bowl cut is horrendous!”

He wants to say that Byleth picked the show because everyone was stoked about reenacting a board game and bringing it to life—actually, their scripts were the cheapest.

They're right outside their Gov classroom now, and he can already hear Hanneman talking to one of the students who he assumes came for extra help. Hilda stretches out her arms with a yawn.

“To enter, or not to enter?”

“Are you sure about this, Hilda? We could always go bother Eisner, maybe she’d write us a late pass if we asked nicely after getting into a deep discussion on character analysis—“

Claude stops himself, taking a long sip of his coffee. On one hand, if he skips again he'll probably have to deal with Seteth, who he doesn't like on a good day. But getting to see Byleth so early in the morning would be really good for his mood. _But_ she'd be disappointed in him, and he _hates_ disappointing her.

"You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to deal with Seteth this early in the morning.”

He sighs, walking into the classroom and taking a seat on the side of the room closest to the door. He's right behind Dimitri, who's wearing his letterman jacket, the word _Captain_ stitched on the back along with everything else that comes with that overly expensive bragging material. Predictable. Lorenz sits down next to him, taking the seat usually occupied by Hilda… as if his day couldn't get any worse.

“Look who decided to show up to class today,” Lorenz greets, snarky as always. “Are you actually interested in this lecture, or simply avoiding the consequences? After all, you wouldn’t want to be caught alone in the hallways with someone you _shouldn’t_ , isn’t that right ...?”

“Hey, Lorenz, cut it _out_ ,” Hilda cuts in. “Nobody asked.”

“Ah, Claude,” Dimitri pipes up, smiling warmly at him in a way that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Feeling better these days? Mr. Hanneman has been worrying about your absence.”

Oh, Dimitri ... to be a jock who can’t read the room.

"Thanks for worrying, Dimitri, but I'm fine. I prefer sleep to politics, that's all. And Lorenz, I have no idea _who_ you'd be talking about, but I'm glad you know I can get more girls than you ever could."

Lorenz scowls. “Suit yourself.” It seems to get the message across, though, because he looks the other way and Hilda’s giggling in the corner.

Claude leans back in his chair. His bag’s kinda plopped on the floor and his books aren’t even on his desk, but he could care less. Marianne would give him a look if she saw him drinking a larger coffee than he usually brings, but he had to actually show up to first period today, so he thinks there's an excuse.

He doesn't notice how far he’s laid down until someone taps him on the back of the head—Linhardt, to be precise.

"I know you don't usually come to class, Claude, but this desk is where I nap. You have your own."

He turns around. “Hey, chill. I’ll get off, sorry.”

“Thank you, Linhardt,” says Dimitri, locking eyes with Claude, “for waking him up. Learning about politics is just as important in being a good citizen. You’re of age, yes? We’re all going to vote at some point, and we can’t have you sleeping past helpful information.”

“Define ‘we’,” a certain bluehead snaps from a seat in front of Lorenz. “Or do you mean _you_ ? We already know you’re the captain of the football team and a candidate for student council third year in a row, you can stop gloating about how _responsible_ you are compared to the rest of us.”

Dimitri’s face falls. “Excuse me, Felix, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry if I offended you, but please, I’d appreciate it if you kept your comments to yourself.”

“Not good with criticism, are you?”

Sylvain reaches over, his hand wrapping around Felix’s ponytail and pulling it harshly. "You promised that you wouldn't pick fights with _everyone_ this year, Fe. Dimitri's trying to be nice."

“Ow, ow, _ow_! Sylvain, let me go! I’m speaking facts, how is that ‘starting anything’?”

Felix continues to thrash around trying to get his hair loose. Sylvain just smiles apologetically at Dimitri, who responds with a sigh.

“... if you’d like, I can make you run an extra ten laps.”

That seems to knock sense into them both. Sylvain loosens his grip on Felix’s hair, while the other in question lowers his eyes. "See? _That’s_ why. C'mon, I need my legs to play. Dimitri, that was just for Felix 'cus he's being a dick, right?"

“I’m kidding!” the blonde dismisses. “This week’s going to be tough. We’re better off focusing our energy where we truly need it.”

“So either way, you’re going to kill us?”

“Felix, can you shut up?”

Ah, the football boys are bickering again. Claude has been texting Hilda for the last few minutes, but hearing them in between words is always entertaining. Running in circles, these guys... that hair pull is suspicious as hell ( _Is Felix into that?_ ), and he can’t imagine the rest of the team. If at least half of them weren't waving pride flags by the end of the year, he'd question his own judgement. Unfortunately for that prediction, Dimitri is as dense as a rock. He won’t be coming out for a _while_.

Funny enough, he's always felt like an outsider at Garreg Mach, but seeing and being a part of the petty banter of high school makes him feel a bit more at home.

He keeps his grin to himself, sending yet another message to Hilda.

  
  


**to: bubblegum bitch**

If Lorenz says one more word you have my permission to make him the resident ghost of the auditorium.

yk what i'll do it myself if i leave this class with any sort of brain power left

btw I think Felix is repressed

he’s emo what did you expect

He’s about to send a reply, but the door opens. Sylvain and Felix quiet down, Hilda’s trying to hold in her laughter, and Claude is busy shoving his phone into his pocket.

Hanneman is in.

"Good morning, class.” Goddess, he’s overly enthusiastic even for an old guy. “Claude, I'm glad to see you back with us, and even more so that your hair isn't as brightly colored as the rest of the drama production. Felix, Dimitri, I would appreciate it if you left issues of your team to Mr. Hrym, and Sylvain, I hate that I must say this, but do keep your hands to yourself. Hilda, and Claude _again_ , phones away please."

As much as he tries to hide his discontentment, Claude wonders what’s behind it. Just looking at the eccentrics in his classroom must make Hanneman pray for retirement. _Bet he gets a headache from all of our chaos_ . He has to hand it to him, though, he didn’t think he’d see the phones. _He’s got sharp eyes._

He hears a _ding_ from his phone as he tucks it in, likely from Hilda, but he doesn’t answer. Hanneman continues to lecture on.

"I hope you all had a nice weekend. Now, if you can all pass up the homework that was assigned on Friday at the end of class..." 

There's a collective groan as everyone attempts to _fish out their attempts_ (emphasis on ‘attempts’, they’re apparently all terrible) at an essay on political leanings in the 20th century. Claude’s eyes wander to the clock, and only ten minutes have passed. Damnit, he’s already finished his coffee.

First period was going to be _great_.

* * *

Yeah, he’s never going to first period again.

"That was super boring,” he complains. “Honestly, we know about politics. I could be doing so much with the time I just spent in that class, but now he expects me to go.”

Hilda rolls her eyes at him. “You’re not obligated to him forever. Just hold out until the election’s over, okay?”

"I still hold that we should've ditched. Nobody goes to first period anyways."

“Is it because you’re inheriting the family business?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me…”

The thought of his family's business makes him cringe. He's known since he was thirteen that there was only one path his parents would let him go down, and that was taking on their company. And sure, having a job lined up after college already is nice, but Claude had always wanted to make that choice on his own.

Ah, what the hell? Like it matters.

They scoot across the halls until they get to the science wing. He’s never really liked science at his old school, and he's not interested in going anywhere near it in college. Even Hilda knows that he hates chemistry to a tee, but there's one reason that he'll always enjoy chemistry more than any other subject. No, it’s not the makeshift explosions or the fact that most of the theater kids inject the class period with absolute chaos.

It’s Ms. Eisner. He’s in puppy love; one sided, potentially disastrous puppy love with Ms. Eisner, and he’s absolutely screwed.

Hilda probably thinks he’s stupid, but going to Byleth’s always puts an extra pep in his step. Can’t complain about that.

They enter the room, and his face lights up like a damn Christmas tree.

"Good morning," Byleth exclaims.

"Morning, Teach.” Claude leans on the edge of the table, letting his bag fall onto the floor. “You ready for the read-through later? I went over the script this weekend, almost had to ditch first period to come talk about it."

Byleth frowns. “Claude, we’ve been over this. I’d be happy to see you in the mornings, but really not at the expense of your transcript ...”

“ _Hilda_ said the same thing, surprisingly. I’m just hoping there’s less chaos than the one for the musical last year.”

“Oh? Maybe you should listen to her, then.”

Speaking of Hilda, she’s making faces again. _Lovebirds_ , she mouths in his direction. It earns her a nice _quiet_ from the way he glares back. “Tell me about it… anyway, if you need help setting up, just let me know.”

She laughs. “I’m looking forward to it.”

The classroom is starting to fill up. Lysithea strolls in first, carrying all her books and plopping them onto her desk. She shoots a quick “Good morning!” over to Byleth before opening up to the latest chapter. Ignatz is a little sleep-deprived, but he manages a wave in their general direction. He pulls his glasses up to rub at his eyes, to which Lysithea stares at him widely.

“Hey, Ignatz! You still have paint on your hands.”

“Lysithea—wait, really? Oh, goodness… I just turned in my art project, it must have smeared...”

“It’s on your face now, too!”

And the chaos begins.

Byleth turns around and starts the lesson. Claude doesn’t pay attention to half of it, but he wouldn’t admit that much out loud. He’ll do the work, obviously, he _likes_ chemistry… but not as much as he likes Byleth.

_Ms. Eisner_. First-name basis is for drama club stuff only.

Chemistry goes by much easier. He isn’t watching the clock anymore, but the way her hair flows down her back and her eyes sparkle in the reflection of the sun.

That read through is gonna be hell on his teenage hormones.


	2. what happens in the locker room (stays there)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri realizes he isn’t straight.

It’s senior year and Dimitri feels like hell.

Ironically, he’s the one who decided on today’s training regimen. Garreg Mach was facing a huge tournament opportunity in the middle of the season. He was the captain now, and if there was anything that would help his team improve, push them one step closer to victory, he’ll do it—every point counts. 

...

_...shit_ , he’s the captain.

Add that to student council, vice-president of National Honor Society, and the decision to take another four Advanced Placement classes, and you have a recipe for mass burnout—ahem, academic success! Yes, academic success. It’s tiring, to say the least, but all of his hard effort will be worth it in the end… or so he tells himself.

They’re in the locker room at the moment. By _they_ , it’s just Dedue and himself. The others have gone home for the day, eager to leave after ‘nearly dying’ during practice, so to speak.

He pulls up his water bottle by the handle, taking a swig. Dimitri pants for breath as he pulls his lips away, wiping them and sitting over his knees. Maybe he’s gone overboard this time... his adrenaline is running, but his calves are really feeling the burn more so than usual. Is he going to be able to do homework _and_ organize his stuff for the presidential campaign? His head hurts just thinking about it.

He _could_ stop thinking about it, but he’s always thinking—stopping is never an option because even when he stops, his mind runs in circles. It’s times like these he’d prefer a distraction. It doesn’t make him forget, but it helps somewhat.

Dimitri raises his eyes to Dedue walking out of the showers, his jersey thrown hastily over his head. Normally, the other waits until he gets home, but he was quick to run to a stall today. Considering the hell he’s put him through today, Dimitri doesn’t blame him.

… what he does instead is realize that Dedue is _shirtless_ and also _pants-less_ save for a towel, and _holy mother of Sothis he is naked_ save for a towel.

Well, that’s one hell of a distraction.

Dimitri coughs, shifting his gaze to the side. When he met Dedue in their freshman year, he was kind of scrawny. They’ve been going to the gym together for quite some time, but it’s only now that he notices just how much Dedue’s filled out since then. He’s built up more in his chest, the tone of his muscle well-defined in his arms. Their height difference was only a few inches before, though he now towers over Dimitri by nearly a foot.

He shouldn’t stare. He _really_ shouldn’t stare, but it’s satisfying— _no, that sounds just as bad. Just stop._

“Are you worrying about our game, or is something else on your mind?”

Dimitri jumps at the question. While he was staring off into space, Dedue’s already pulled his pants and his underwear on in seconds. The towel is now draped around his neck, and he comes over to sit next to Dimitri.

“No, it’s … it’s nothing,” he stammers, his cheeks flushing. “I’m fine.”

_Say it’s from the heat … from the workout._ Yes, that’s a good excuse.

“You say you’re fine, but don’t usually mean it.”

It doesn’t seem like that’s the kind of _not fine_ the other’s referring to, though.

“Dedue, really, I’m okay—“

“ _Dimitri_.” They lock eyes—Dedue’s firm, Dimitri’s guilty. “I understand if you don’t want to speak, but you cannot keep doing this to yourself.”

He holds in a breath. Dedue pulls out his phone, presumably to check the time—or is he trying to fill the silence with activity? He looks like he’s contemplating, though about what is hard to say. No matter what he tries to tell himself though, Dedue is right. 

Dimitri sighs in resignation.

“ _Everything_ is on my mind, Dedue,” he confesses, shaking his head. “It isn’t just the first game ... there’s the presidential campaign coming up, and I still have to assemble my team with a short voice call later, and get all my work done to hand in tomorrow.” Dimitri wipes the sweat off his temple. “I can’t risk burning out this early, not when there’s so much going on—“

"And that’s exactly what I’m talking about. You _will_ burn yourself out if you keep acting like this. I can help you organize the materials for your campaign, and most of our classes are similar, so that's the easy part.

Dedue moves back to his locker, tossing on his shirt and drying his hair with the towel. "You're not in this alone, Dimitri. If you don't want my help, or if it's something I can't do, there's our entire team that's willing to help you."

He goes back to sitting next to Dimitri, a slightly exasperated smile playing at his lips. It’s refreshing to see him smile, he notes—Dedue would never have been this talkative when he was a freshman, but after so much time on the loudest football team in their state, he's been able to loosen up. Despite all this, he’s still known as the strong and silent type, so seeing any expression on his face makes Dimitri happy. It’s enough to stop him from protesting against his lectures.

“Thank you… you’re the best, really. I’ll tell you if there’s anything else I need off my chest, I promise.”

The taller of them merely nods. Dimitri pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side.

They make assumptions about Dedue. They say he’s intimidating and can’t hold a conversation for the life of him, but they don’t know him like Dimitri does. He is kind, strong, far more selfless than he allowed himself to be seen as… he had always gone an extra arm’s length for Dimitri’s sake regardless of the consequences. He counts the times they’ve stayed up until four in the morning because of his insomnia, had dinner with the Molinaros, every game they’ve won back to back, every loss, because Dedue has always been there. He’s a good friend, one that he doesn’t deserve, but nevertheless lucky to have.

Sometimes, he wants it to be more.

He thinks about brushing his hand in the park as they watch the leaves fall this coming October. He thinks about what it would be like to lean against his shoulder simply to enjoy his company. He thinks about those emerald eyes and the subtlest of smiles at the corner of his lips, the way his heart flutters every time Dedue speaks. If he could spend another dinner with his family, if he could get away from the shitty place he calls home and stay with him—Dedue, _Dedue_ is the one person who’s seen his darkest sides, and yet he chose to stay. If he could have a moment of peace with him, that would be enough.

Is it normal to have these feelings for your best friend? He thinks _yes_ , _because we’re just friends_ — _no, we’re both guys._ It’s easier this way. Better to proclaim that you’re ‘just friends’ because it isn’t possible for him to love another man to such extent that it’s still platonic, and maybe Dedue is a special case, but _platonically_. Yeah, right. 

Because staring at his arms while he’s working out, wondering how they’d feel on his hips, is completely, _absolutely_ normal.

It’s gotten quiet again, and his nerves are settling back in. Dedue’s taken out a book—he recognizes it as the novel assigned to their English curriculum—leaving Dimitri to stare at him in wonder.

_Why is he reading here, of all places?_

It’s odd. Dedue just offered to be a listening ear, and yet he’s found himself another item to occupy himself with… was Dimitri bothering him?

(He doesn’t notice the flush on the darker man’s cheeks, not even before the book was raised.)

“... the showers are free, yes..?” 

"As far as I know.”

It’s funny because they’re the only ones left, and if _as far as I know_ implies there’s a third-party stalker in the room, then it’s a pretty shitty answer. In the midst of desperately trying to wave out the tension, though, it passes over both of their heads.

Dedue raises his eyes from the pages. They widen slightly, then hide deeper once he retreats into the novel. It’s subtle, but strange enough for him to pick up on.

“I didn’t think you to be such an avid reader,” he jabs, leaning over Dedue’s shoulder, “but shouldn’t you wait until we’ve left? The lighting isn’t particularly great…”

His eyes scan the words effortlessly, but his mind is … somewhere else. Why is his heart racing? They’re … they’re just friends. _Shake it off, shake it off..._

“Unless there’s something you need to speak of as well?”

"I'm alright. I was just working to catch up on my assignments while I wait for you. Is that so odd?" 

He replies a little too quickly, but closes the book by the spine. Even after he slips it into his bag while he speaks, he refuses to look at Dimitri directly.

"And what about you? You should relax… perhaps a shower would do you some good."

Dimitri bites his lip. “A shower … right.”

He turns away, his face now as red as a tomato. Right, he had yet to take one, and he just asked Dedue if the stalls were free … that’s embarrassing. _He’s_ embarrassing. Worst part is, Dimitri’s likely the only reason they’re still here. Dedue is his carpool to and from school for … reasons, and he’s not going to leave until they’re both ready.

That’s not going to happen if he keeps thinking of what’s in Dedue’s trousers—

_Fuck._

“Am I … am I really that easy to read?”

Dedue chuckles, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re easy to read because we’ve known each other for so long. It isn’t anything you should worry about, really.” 

There it is again—Dedue is staring at him. He’s close, _far_ too close even with this distance, so much Dimitri could touch him, kiss him...

_Don’t even think about it._

He’s leaning in before he realizes it.

_Don’t even think about it—_

He tilts his head to the side and closes the gap between them.

_Don’t …_

… too late.

It’s only when he feels the contact that Dimitri realizes the gravity of what he’s done, and he backs away. Fuck, _fuck_ , now he’s done it. This was so insanely out of character even for him, and now Dedue will hate him. He’s made an advance, and most likely he doesn’t want it, never did, never will. Their friendship is going to go down the drain. At this rate, he’s better off crawling into a ditch somewhere and laying in it for the rest of his life.

No matter how he tried to spin it, Dedue wasn’t just a friend. He knew, he tried so hard not to let it get in the way, and yet he repressed it so deep down it burst back up to the surface.

He understands, now. The truth is what it is… and it terrifies him.

_Take your belongings and get out!_

He can’t bring himself to move at all.

“Goddess, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me, just forget this ever happened, I—“

_Say no more._

And Dedue pulls him in, their lips touching once more. There’s a _clang_ as his back hits the lockers, hand in his hair, feeling kind of dizzy— _is this real? is this actually happening?_ —a mutter in between, “If you didn’t mean it, tell me now.”

A kiss is not a friendly greeting. A kiss is not casual, not just between _friends_. So then, what does it mean?

… what is Dedue to him?

“Because if we’re being honest, I’ve _wanted_ this.”

In that moment, Dimitri decides.

_He is everything._

It takes his breath away, but he manages a smile. “Likewise.”

“Oh, thank the goddess…”

They mean well, but their gentleness becomes hurried. One, two, and maybe five more; a minute has passed, though it’s bound to last longer. He’s not sure where this is going or why his conscious is blurring in and out, but he finds himself pulling on the ends of Dedue’s shirt, sighing as the other sucks on his bottom lip.

“Dimitri, we could... my car..”

_Save ourselves some decency_ , he realizes. If the school finds out they were up to such activities in the lockers, the rumors would come out fast, but he doesn’t care. They’ve danced around each other for so long that decency can wait. Hell, decency can go fuck itself.

“... shut up and kiss me.”

He does.

They kiss. They make out. Dedue’s body presses against his, and he’s never felt so euphoric.

What happens in the locker room stays in the locker room.

* * *

“Did that just happen?”

They’re sitting in the front of Dedue’s car; Dimitri in the passenger seat with his letterman jacket, the other with his hands on the steering wheel, both fully clothed and equally breathless.

Dedue looks … shocked, like he’s still trying to process this. It’s unnatural to see him with a full expression on his face, but it makes Dimitri laugh a little.

“I… yes,” he responds eventually. “Yes, it did.”

“Did you like it?”

Dedue’s mouth hangs open. “You’re asking me this _now_?”

“I am.”

“And what if I said yes?”

They both get a chuckle out of that one. “I’d be more afraid to hear it if you said no.”

“I can’t say no to you, Dimitri.” He pulls the gear shift back. “Let’s get something to eat, shall we? I’ll make you something at home.”

“That sounds great, thank you.”

“No need.”

Dimitri looks towards the windshield. They came to school as friends and are now leaving as lovers, but this carpool feels like the same as always. There’s an ordinariness to their relationship, he decides, an easiness as if this was always meant to be. As big of a change as it seems, it doesn’t feel like much has changed at all.

No awkwardness, no anxieties … just relief. For the first time, his shoulders feel lighter.

“Dedue?”

Dimitri glances back at his driver.

“Hm?”

“I didn’t get to say it properly before, but…” He reaches for Dedue’s free hand. “I love you.”

The way his face lights up—Dimitri would pay anything to see that again and again.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.” He smiles back. “I love you, too.”

Dimitri hears that, and everything falls into place.

The vehicle’s pulled into reverse, backing out of the parking spot, and they drive away. The radio plays a soft tune along the way, a song he doesn’t know, but puts him at ease. They talk about Gov and how Caspar shot a paper airplane into the back of Felix’s head, Claude finally showed up to class, post-routine exhaustion, but nevertheless the same. They stop at a red light and when Dedue places a hand over Dimitri’s thigh, moving his thumb in small circles, he nearly short circuits… but it feels right. It just does.

Dedue is his … was his crush, now his boyfriend, and they can work out the rest. He can accept that.

They don’t speak of what happened that day, but he’ll always remember.


	3. four years later, we’ve grown up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s unlike Ingrid to get so worked up over a hoodie.

Ingrid is the first to notice.

The bell rings, signalling the end of first period. As the hallways start flooding with students, she skirts over towards Room 403. Hanneman’s classroom is known for being ‘the place where all the drama happens’, particularly because all the seniors are in Gov in the morning; Ms. Eisner’s is a close second. The chemistry lab is her actual destination, but stopping by to wait for Sylvain and Felix has become a daily ritual of sorts.

Dimitri’s part of that group too, of course. The four of them grew up together, and unsurprisingly, they’re all heavily involved in the Blue Lions sports departments. While the star quarterback leads the football team, Ingrid’s captain of lacrosse. She’s determined to score them a championship this year, and in part, that’s why she enjoys the company of the guys—as much as they butt heads, their mindsets were one and the same.

They always have been.

(Lately, they haven’t been. They don’t talk about it.)

She’s praying Claude isn’t going to give her yet another stupid greeting as she heads to the door. Good for her that she doesn’t run into him, instead catching up to her childhood friends. Sylvain looks like he just rolled out of bed, his messy red hair even worse than usual. He has one arm around Felix’s shoulders in  _ the friendly sort of way _ , as he likes to call it, probably reciting yet another round of pick up lines like a mantra. Felix looks annoyed as usual, holding out his canteen in front of him. From the corner of her eye, she notices Hilda giggling about with Marianne—okay, that’s new, and then…

… Dimitri comes out of the classroom.

He looks normal. He’s not dead; his eyes aren’t bugging out of his skull or anything, but Ingrid’s will be now that she notices his back.

_ Goddess, that’s... _

She gasps louder than she should, scurrying over to the pair with a pale face.

“Hey, did you see Dimitri’s hoodie?”

Sylvain glances back at her in slight confusion, a little  _ hm? _ leaving his throat as his tone rises. “Uh, yeah … it’s the team hoodie, Ingrid. We all have one.” He slips his arm off Felix, running a hand through his hair. “So Dimitri doesn’t look as put together as put together as usual, what are you gonna do, sue him?”

Ingrid scoffs. “Sylvain,  _ no _ , I know it’s the team hoodie—“

Felix sighs gruffly, irritante seeping into his voice. Maybe he’s tired, but that’s how he usually is. “Ingrid, it’s  _ just _ a hoodie, you need to calm down.”

In the middle of their exchange, Sylvain squints over at Dimitri. Ingrid tells him that his vision’s fucked up and he should really get himself a pair of glasses, but he’s never gonna listen to her. Seems like he realizes what she’s talking about, though.

“The hell is … Felix, what’s that say? I can’t see from here.”

He’s opened up the water bottle in his hands, holding the top up to his lips. “What, are you blind? Ingrid, seriously, it’s not like you’ve never seen him grown-up and wearing a hoodie before—“

“It says  _ Molinaro _ on it!”

Felix gags, his other hand flying to his mouth to prevent himself from spit-taking onto the floor. Sylvain is the victim of the spit-take, jaw dropping as the water pours onto his arm. 

All varsity merchandise had the athlete’s number on the front and their last name on the back. Written in clearly-embroidered white on Dimitri’s hoodie was not  _ Blaiddyd _ , but indeed  _ Molinaro _ , and that could only lead to one explanation.

Dedue.

The redhead breaks into a shit-eating grin, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “No fucking way!” He nearly doubles over, the sound of his phone clattering onto the floor in his fit of hysterics. Sylvain wheezes as he picks it up. “Dimitri  _ got _ some! Ingrid, oh  _ goddess _ , I owe you big time for pointing that out. What do you want? A puppy? I'll get you a puppy. Felix, pinch me. He's wearing Dedue’s hoodie.  _ Dedue _ !"

Felix is busy coughing up any liquid that went down the wrong pipe. They seem to be in the same boat, he and Ingrid; whether to laugh or stare in shock is a choice neither are sure to make. As far as Sylvain is, whenever he hears  _ anything _ drama-worthy, he goes nuts. At least one of them is getting a kick out of this, even if it means attracting the rest of the damn hallway.

“Um, I don’t ... I wouldn’t mind, but I have too many responsibilities for a puppy ...” she stammers, laughing nervously. “Sylvain, are you ...?”

“Are you telling me that the boar _ actually _ had sex with him?” Felix utters, panting lightly as he catches his breath. “With  _ Dedue,  _ out of all people? What the hell?”

"Felix! This is a revelation! He might not kill us during practice anymore if he has another outlet for his energy!" Sylvain’s eyes are practically sparkling in awe at Dimitri. She knows that look—the kind he has whenever he finds a person’s weak spot worthy of teasing and exploitation, especially within their friend group. “And have you  _ seen  _ Dedue? Honestly, I would if he asked.”

“Would  _ what _ , smash?”

“ _ Yes _ , I’d smash!”

The youngest of them snorts. “I’ll admit that he’s bulkier than the little weasel we met in freshman year.”

“See? Felix gets it!”

“I never said  _ I  _ would, dumbass! Never in a thousand years. You need to start thinking with your head and not your  _ dick _ , motherfucker.”

“Two insults at a time, that’s new.”

“Oh my fucking goddess.”

“Do you think Dimitri even realizes he’s wearing it, though? If you ask me, parading around with it seems kind of out of character…”

They bicker amongst the two of them, but all Ingrid can see is the past. Her heart sinks.

_ No, don’t jump to conclusions. _

The last phrase she hears is something along the lines of  _ Dimitri had sex _ , which is enough to snap her out of it.

“Dimitri had  _ what _ ?!”

Sylvain raises his eyebrows— _ how do you not pick up on this stuff, Ingrid? _ —and shakes his head in dismay. “Where else would he have gotten the hoodie?”

The quarterback passes by them, humming a soft tune under his breath as his bag dangles from one shoulder. As he continues to walk in front, he zones out as if lost in thought, unable to notice them.  _ Maybe it’s better that way _ , she thinks for a moment, but Sylvain just has to whistle him over in their direction.

"Dimitri! C'mere for a sec."

Felix snickers to himself, and Ingrid takes this as a cue to stay quiet. The blonde is the last person she wants to see eye to eye right now, but there’s nothing she can do.

“Nice hoodie. Love what you did with the back of it, too.” 

“We ...” Dimitri points to himself, and then to Sylvain. “... have the same one?”

“At least his actually has his own name on it,” Felix grumbles.

Sylvain grins coyly. “So, you and Dedue, huh? I mean, we could all tell you had something going on, but I’m glad to see you guys finally worked it out.”

It dawns on him then, and Dimitri’s facial expression does a complete one-eighty. A hand flies to his mouth, cheeks burning red as if  _ he didn’t realize. _ “You’re joking.” The redhead’s smile only grows wider, further placing Dimitri on the edge. “ _ Wait _ , let me explain, we were working on campaign material last night, and I was so tired from then that I thought this was my varsity jacket—it’s not like… he’s  _ not _ ...!” 

Dimitri groans, shoulders sinking in surrender. “It’s … it’s comfortable, okay?”

Ah, he’s confirmed it.

_ So this is how it is. _

They really were together, weren’t they?

Best she save face, lest they question her—Ingrid is certain Felix has already noticed the slight twitch of her brow, and any more visible discomfort would ruin the mood.

She’s not about to be that person.

“Calm down, we’re not going to bash you for having feelings for a guy,” she replies calmly ~~enough~~. “But on a serious note, I doubt it was a good idea to have sex on a weekday.”

Dimitri blushes harder—well, he isn’t  _ denying  _ it. Sylvain gets a good laugh out of that one, fixing him with a more charming smile. “Did you not see my pride post last year? We’re your friends, Dimitri. You should’ve just said something, I would’ve signed up as your wingman on the spot.” He puts a hand on the other’s shoulder, and for a moment, his expression hardens. “If he hurts you, though, I won’t hesitate.”

He sighs in relief. “... thank you. Dedue’s a good guy, though, I doubt he would do anything malicious.”

“I’m just saying.”

_ Just saying _ , like it’s a hypothetical, except it isn’t. As big of a blockhead as he can be sometimes, the oaf can get pretty deep when it comes to relationships. He’s bulked up with Dimitri and Dedue at their workout sessions, and that’s reason enough for him to say that everything’s fine.  _ He’s a good guy,  _ they say.  _ Just saying. _

That’s what everyone says.

Speak of the devil, the fullbacker in question arrives. His face lights up when he sees Dimitri; it’s subtle, but for a guy as normally stoic as him, it’s noticeable. Dedue gravitates towards them, and Ingrid turns her head to the side in disacknowledgement. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sylvain reassures, raising his arms. “Nothing major, just letting Dimitri know we’re on your side… and that he’s still one of my childhood friends. You pull something over on him, and I’ll make sure you end up tackled more than enough times to get a concussion.”

Felix whistles as Dedue wanders over to them, eyeing the tallest warily. “Don’t fool around too much with our quarter, got it? We’re trusting you.”

"I'm not planning on distracting Dimitri from his work as our captain, don’t worry,” he reassures. “I want to win this year as much as everyone else, and I'll take care of him. I promise."

The way Dimitri nudges Dedue is a gesture unlike what she’s seen with anyone else—the shy glance in his direction, the way his hands tug gently on an area near the back shoulder of what he’s wearing as a means of telling his boyfriend about the mixup. He seems … softer, reminiscent of the little boy she knew in those golden days. When was the last time he looked this happy?

~~happy with~~ ~~_ him _ ~~ ~~? impossible, that’s impossible~~

Being here makes her feel sick. Watching them lace their fingers together, Dedue’s thumb circling around the back of Dimitri’s hand, makes her  _ sick _ —all it takes is one look at his face to know that Dimitri is terribly,  _ terribly  _ in love, and her mouth’s running dry.

“I’m with these guys,” she forces out, nodding and pulling the straps of Felix’ bag along. “Anyway, we should go. We’re gonna be late.”

Play dumb, pretend to rush. Dedue will probably notice, but damn it if he notices, he’s no good for Dimitri, anyway.

Any longer here and she’s going to combust.

Sylvain pats the blonde on the shoulder before making some joke about Ms. Eisner dealing with Claude, and “she’ll be too busy with him to care if we’re late”. Felix points at Dedue and starts rambling about how he better live up to his promises, Dimitri looks like he’s having the time of his life, and then they part ways.

Throughout their early years, it had always been the four of them: Dimitri, Sylvain, Felix, and herself. Their families were close-knit. They went to the mountains for vacations and had more snowball fights than she could count. They spent every Christmas at the Fraldarius household, sipping hot chocolate by the fireplace as Glenn read story after story until they fell asleep. Whatever they did, it was together.

The accident changed everyone.

Felix shut himself out for a time. Ingrid cried for days. Sylvain didn’t think of it much, but was forced to bystand everyone without knowing how to help, and Dimitri … well, it can be argued that he got the worst of it. 

( _ “Don’t compare trauma” _ , said a little bird once.  _ “Everyone’s experiences are valid” _ , the seemingly simple truth, until you realize all you can see is you, you,  _ you _ , and how it affected  _ you _ alone.)

Then Dedue came into the picture.

Scrawny kid, but tall for his age at five-foot nine. Hair as white as snow against the cool umber of his complexion, darker than what she was familiar with most of their previous companions. He wasn’t much for words, though Dimitri took this as an invitation to do most of the talking. What she remembers the clearest is his forlorn gaze that frequently wandered elsewhere. Back then, it was anxious, now solemn against his hard features and intimidating stature… a sign of maturity, if not some sort of newfound confidence.

Initially, she tried to talk Dimitri out of it. He was so insistent on helping the new kid get around school, though, and there was no stopping him once he set his mind to something. Slowly but surely, he started spending more time with Dedue than the others. Weeks turned to months, months turned to years, and she could only watch as her closest confidant drifted away.

Even now, she has … mixed feelings, if she could even call it that. Those of Duscur ancestry don’t meld well with Fódlan. They are  _ different _ —he is different, potentially dangerous, and yet Dimitri had no qualms about befriending him whatsoever. It’s not about the color of his skin, it’s just … Dedue has an intimidating presence about him, and she doesn’t like it.

(And she will never confess that it  _ is _ about the color of his skin, despite how much she knows it to be true, for she is a woman of noble virtue and the virtuous wouldn’t dare make such accusations, would they?)

It should have been the four of them… just four, and then this kid from another town moves into their life— _ his _ life, and suddenly takes him away.

Dimitri was hurting. She knew that. To see someone else comforting him, however, in a role that should have been hers; to realize that he gives far more trust to a person he met recently when they’ve known each other for their entire lives, was a painful reminder that by his side was no longer her place.

She wished she could’ve done it herself. That’s all.

Ingrid gets a glimpse of the couple as she turns back. Their hands are still intertwined, Dimitri laughing as Dedue plants a kiss on his cheek.

So much for childhood friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was not expecting this chapter to be Ingrid-centric, but she’s a frequently overlooked character who deserves some acknowledgement for her actual complexity. 
> 
> Part of Ingrid’s initial dislike for Dedue stems in her racial bias—that much was made clear in the game, but it might’ve also been influenced by how Dedue entering the social circle threw off the dynamic between the original four. They were already distancing themselves, but Dimitri’s desire to provide for someone in order to feel needed and distract from his trauma further separated him from the group, resulting in the disconnect between him and the Faerghus trio. 
> 
> All things considered, it makes sense as to why she dissents him, though it isn’t meant to justify her treatment of Dedue whatsoever. Thought it’d be interesting to explore.
> 
> The next chapter is where the drama happens, so buckle your seatbelts...


	4. "blah blah," says the ceo of racism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight nearly breaks out in the cafeteria. It's not pretty.

There are many rumors that fill these halls.

Rumor has it that the star quarterback is getting it on with another player. Rumor has it that it’s the fullbacker—rumor has it he’s a goody-two-shoes on the outside but probably a freak inside, a large scandal for someone as prestigious as a candidate for future student council president, and the rival of Edelgard von Hresvelg, no less.

Dedue has no intent of entertaining them.

He’s already heard the rumors about himself: he is big and burly, and his size is quick to intimidate. He is difficult to hold a conversation with and proves to be unusually timid. Some are even convinced that his quiet nature is a mask, determined to pry it away in hopes of finding something vile and unpleasant underneath. _He’d rob a bank_ , they’d say. _He’s a disgrace_ , they’d say—he’s heard it all, and they can talk as much as they want for all he cares.

… is what he’d like to say.

Admittedly, some do the talking more than others. Hubert just so happens to be one of them.

Initially, Dedue paid him no mind. The man seems to slip under everyone’s radars, with the darker clothes he wears and the way he avoids everyone _except_ Edelgard and the rest of the debate team. 

Ah, yes … the _debate team._ The Black Eagles have gone as far as the nationals before, earning themselves awards and namesakes special enough to rival the sports departments. Controversy is the least of their concerns; the best topics just so happen to be controversial, and their quick jabs force others to rethink their perspectives. As much as it serves the heart of their victories, however, it has also made their reputation somewhat questionable.

He’s spoken to Petra a few times. Dorothea seems nice enough, albeit a little _too_ accommodating when she worries. Linhardt and Caspar bicker more times than he can count, but it reminds him of Sylvain and Felix in an endearing sort of way—they seem like good eggs. Bernadetta has always been frightened of him, but he never took it personally. Even Ferdinand, who reminds him too much of a blaring fire alarm when someone compares him to Edelgard, is alright. 

But Hubert … he can’t _stand_ Hubert, and speak of the devil, he’s decided to show up.

Even as he hears those footsteps approach, Dedue doesn’t tear away from the textbook in front of him. He’d rather focus on his calculus homework, in all honesty—he and Dimitri did half of it last night, and he could easily finish it now if not for this unwelcome presence in the air. The other Lions haven’t arrived yet, leaving him alone in the cafeteria. 

“Proud of yourself, aren’t you, Molinaro?”

Hubert is right behind him now. He stares like a hawk, this one, and Dedue is sure he’s supposed to be the prey—but that is a satisfaction he refuses to give, no matter how much anxiety bubbles in his chest.

“I’m not sure what you mean, exactly. Can I help you?”

He doesn’t look up. It seems Hubert doesn’t like that answer, because he leans over onto the table— _this is the Blue Lions table, what is he even doing here?_ —right into Dedue’s face.

“If it means you can confirm the hearsay, then perhaps. Or is idle chatter not to your liking?”

Dedue inhales sharply. “I’m aware you think rather little of me, so if you have something to say, spit it out.”

He sees anger flash across Hubert’s face—no, shock is the better word, and then the dark-haired man laughs. “I’ll keep this brief, then. Just how did a brute like you end up in bed with Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd?”

… _in bed with…_

He goes cold. So the gossip is a wildfire, now, isn’t it? For it to have spread so fast...

“I doubt that’s any of your business.”

That’s it, keep a brave face. In the high school hierarchy, the smartest are the strongest—the sports teams are loved by the faculty, but the reputation of their stereotype has diminished, and even then Dedue doesn’t have the same bravado his teammates might flaunt in public. Hubert is above him. _Technically_ , Hubert is above him … but he won’t have it.

“Why don’t you go back to trailing Edelgard like a dog? I’m sure she has something you’d be better off doing.”

Hubert’s eyes go wide, but not for long. That stare pores into. “So he bites instead of barks for once? The brown bear lives up to his name.”

“Excuse me?” His voice is shaking. _Shit_ , his voice is shaking, pull it together...

“Did I stutter, or are you just that primitive?”

“Primitive…” Dedue repeats under his breath. He’s _baffled_. What choice of words…?

“If you want to go there, I would argue you to be as much of a pet,” he snaps, slamming a hand into the table. “At least _I_ have a conscience. What good is it if your beloved quarterback is backlashed because of _you_?”

His mind breaks into a flurry. _It was consensual. I never did anything wrong. Why is this your problem?_ A thousand questions, a thousand answers, and yet every single one of them fails to negate the affirmative.

They say in debate, Hubert is ruthless—he delivers his lines with the utmost eloquence, slices halfway into a crossfire in the midst of his opponent’s response, and when they are vulnerable, he chips away at their points one by one until there is nothing left. 

What he says is right. Dedue took a risk while confessing his feelings, _defiling_ Dimitri—they were underage, they were interracial, and Dimitri has a reputation to protect. He’s _important_ , not like Dedue, whose only role in life is that of a background character. He may have jeopardized his boyfriend’s standings in the voting polls, and Dimitri has worked so, _so_ hard on his campaign. He can’t imagine the possibility of being responsible for ruining it, and Hubert sees that and threatens to eat him whole.

“And if it was our choice?” Dedue murmurs quietly, a fist clenching by his side. “What Dimitri and I have is private and of no concern to you—“

“See, this is what I hate,” Hubert snaps, shaking his head. “The thing about brown people is that you all just _talk_ . It’s _always_ the brown people—the very _second_ you attach yourself to someone who is fair, you act like you’re suddenly entitled.”

His jaw drops. He doesn’t know if it’s his throat going dry or the way his mind suddenly rings in his ears, only that the fear in his chest is burning away into fury.

_That’s what this is about?_

He should have known. He should have known from the start that this was about race—it’s always ‘the guy from Duscur’, the one who isn’t white, the one who isn’t _pure_ . The savage. The _barbarian_. Because apparently, he isn’t anything else.

And what of his family, the kindest, most gentle people he’s ever known in his life? His younger sister, dear Sati, who wouldn’t hurt a soul; his mother and father and their extended relatives they left behind; for all those who share his blood and his ancestry, are they all equated to savages? Is that all they will ever be? This school, this _country_ is so intent on telling them that they will _never_ belong no matter how much they try, and it makes his blood boil.

For the first time, he is _angry_. 

He slams the book shut and stands at full height, towering over Hubert. “Say that again,” he bellows. “ _Say that again_ , I dare you.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Hubert stares him dead in the eye.

“Am I wrong?” he snickers.

The Black Eagles table has gone quiet.

Dedue can hear them talking, feel them _staring_ —they’ve raised their voices so high they’re bound to garner attention, and numerous students are already forming a crowd. The phones are out, their eyes are watching … but gods help them all, if he can save a sliver of his dignity and speak his mind, his name in the mud means nothing in comparison.

“Did you hear me the first time?” Dedue growls. “Say it again. Not to me, but to Petra. She and I are much alike, but at the very least she is your _friend_ . Not every _brown person_ is from Duscur, but they’re all the same to you, aren’t they?”

He’s met with silence from Hubert and gasps from the crowd, but he could care less. Petra might not be happy with the analogy he’s making, and he’ll apologize later, but he’s had enough.

“Go on, now. What would they say if you’d said the same thing to her?”

Hubert doesn’t waver. “And that’s where you differ. Petra is intelligent, studious, and moreover _socially conscientious_. Unlike the rest of her kind, she makes no attempt to disregard herself.”

“And yet you say _her kind_.”

Dedue takes a step closer. “You clearly have no understanding of the gravity of your words. When you speak like that, you give people who think like you but _refuse_ to speak a person to gather behind. A platform. Your awards may crown you a genius, but if _anyone_ here is entitled, it is _you_.

“You have no right to define my worth, if only by the color of my skin. You have no right to use your self-proclaimed debate to bring about such levels of disrespect, not to me, not to Petra, not to _anyone_!”

He’s tempted to hit him. He’s so, _so_ tempted to give Hubert a smack in the cheek and leave him unconscious on the floor, but that is _exactly_ what the other wants: get the big, bad black kid to make a scene, and ‘prove’ to everyone that ‘the stereotype is right’. 

No, it’s not even that—it’s the image of Dimitri that flashes into his mind, the face he’ll make when he finds out Dedue hit someone partly on his behalf. Hubert had the nerve to insult not only Dedue, but his relationship with Dimitri, and he _knows_ Dimitri will blame himself. It doesn’t matter if they’re interracial. It doesn’t matter if Dedue isn’t a main character, but what _does_ matter is Dimitri worrying over something that wasn’t his fault to begin with. If Dedue gets suspended…

… he’ll restrain himself. He’ll be the bigger man. He has to be.

Dedue shoves his books into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

“It’s clear my opinion doesn’t matter to you. I hope this doesn’t reflect on how you’re guiding Edelgard. The student body president can’t be seen with someone as blatantly _racist_ as you.”

There’s a pause on Hubert’s end. The students are screaming, whispering, and it’s incessantly noisy in this room, but maybe that’s what needs to happen.

“I’m sure Edelgard would _agree_ with me, if anything,” he concedes. “Our students are top priority ... and it is our responsibility to protect our body from being tarnished. _Tainted_ by the likes of people like you. _That_ is our platform.”

Hubert glances towards the door to the parking lot. “Or if you truly wish to ram your viewpoint into my skull … as the sports department likes to say, we can _take it to the back_.”

And the audience bursts into outcry; Dorothea looking on in horror, Linhardt abruptly awakening to the chaos, Edelgard sipping on her raspberry La Croix in what appears to be amusement. All he wanted was to get Hubert off his back, but they want _more_ —that is the spectacle of school drama, is that a simple disagreement is never enough.

Where are the other Lions? There has to be some way he can leave, if only—

The doors burst open to a certain blonde, who storms into the center of their commotion.

“Would someone tell me,” Dimitri interrupts, “what the _hell_ is going on here?”

He breathes in. _Dimitri_. It’s the best time and the worst time for him to show up, because the last thing he needs is to get involved in Dedue’s messes.

“I was just letting Hubert know that his _bullshit_ is making a mess of the cafeteria.”

He takes one more step towards Hubert, making sure his hands are visible to the spectators behind his back so he won’t be accused of anything.

“I won’t stoop to your level. Just know that you belong out with the _rats_ , and I hope your mother is ashamed of what you’ve grown up to be.”

“Tough words from a barbarian.” The debater sighs. That silver tongue of yours is unsurprising. You may place yourself on a pedestal for being ‘civilized’, but you will _always_ be second-class—“

“Second-class my _ass_ , Hubert.”

Dimitri is not one to curse. Dimitri is the epitome of _legally not allowed to cuss_ , always chastising others for using such language in an inappropriate manner. His code of verbal conduct is as clean as his record.

To hear him say otherwise ...

“Is the quarterback going to tackle me instead?” Hubert taunts, throwing his arms out and stepping back. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you...”

“I won’t have anyone disrespecting a member of my team. Any insult to Dedue is an insult to me.”

He knows he’s probably scaring Ashe, who looks on in worry for Dimitri and himself. He knows this is a shock to Sylvain, who slides over to Ashe and whispers something along the lines of _“Should we go in there? Feels kinda unfair, we’d make it four on one.”_ His hands are shaking, and he’d love nothing more than to give Hubert a bloody nose for all the trouble he’s gone to.

“The whore speaks,” Hubert jeers at Dimitri. “You’re defensive because you want to keep him around long enough to sleep another night—“

“Say _one more word_ and I’m going to beat your face in!”

It happens so fast.

Dimitri lunges himself at Hubert, restrained only by Ashe gripping his wrists. He hears a scream coming from the outskirts of the conflict, but as to who the owner is, he doesn’t know. 

“Dimitri, calm down!” Ashe cries, his voice trembling. “It isn’t worth it, not when you’re the captain, Dimitri, cut it out...!”

“Let me _go_ , Ashe!”

“C’mon, Dima,” Sylvain’s voice enters, “pull it together, that emo twig isn’t worth detention…”

One moment, he’s fending off Hubert, and the next everyone is arguing. When he glances at the source of those cries— _the Black Eagles table_ , he sees Petra angrily sling her bag over her shoulder; Edelgard near a spill of what appears to be coffee, looking absolutely flabbergasted. Petra’s leaving. The debate team all looks pissed at each other. This is not what he had in mind, not in the slightest—

“I didn’t know our football team was as violent off the field as they are on.”

And suddenly, _Edelgard_ rises from the table, joining Hubert on his other side. “Does everything have to be resolved with your fists, Dimitri? It’s not a good look for your campaign.”

“Edelgard, I can handle this,” Hubert whispers through his teeth.

“At least they speak up when someone insults their friend for what he cannot change!” Petra blurts.

Ah, maybe he shouldn’t have dragged Petra into this. She has a right to be angry. She went through the same prejudices—he said it himself—and struggled with the language, the comments about Brigid. The fear, the anger, the hatred … he understands it all, but...

_Girls are vicious_ . Dimitri has already attempted to swing his hand into violence, and provoked by a first try, Petra might try to do so as well. Lunge for Edelgard and give her a piece of her mind. He’s seen her in the gym before, and she’s _good_ , _really good_ , but if any one single fight breaks out they are _all_ screwed—

“It’s not worth it.” Dedue mouths, shaking his head. _Suspension. Disciplinary action. Temporary consequence, but the satisfaction is short-lived, and it does nothing._

_It’s not worth it._

“ **Everybody stop!”**

Bernadetta’s scream is harsh enough to shatter glass, and the room goes quiet.

....

She meeps, then hides away in her usual seat and crouches in on herself. Even if she retreats now, the message is clear—this has gone on for too long. 

The silence is deafening. Dimitri finally rips his hands from Sylvain and Ashe in the midst of it, but can’t bring himself to raise them. The captain takes a deep breath, glancing to all the faces in the scene. He’s likely realized that fighting will do them no good, but Dedue sees the hurt in his eyes. He sees that glint in Petra’s, the one tells him she knows he’s right—they hate this, but he’s right—and she turns away. She taps Dorothea’s shoulder once and whispers something Dedue cannot make out, then heads to the back door. 

“Let’s go, Dimitri,” Ashe beckons, tugging on his hands. “Take him and get out of here.”

“Dimitri, c’mon, I know that look. We’re going.”

Sylvain tries to pull him out again, but Dimitri’s planted himself to the ground. If there’s anything Dedue knows about him, it’s that when he’s mad, he’s _mad_. Dimitri doesn’t back down until he gets even, but worst of all is that this was a battle he wasn’t supposed to fight.

Dedue moves to hold Dimitri’s hand, trying a different way of getting him to calm down. 

“Mitya, it’s okay. You don’t need to do this.”

Edelgard sighs. “You should go while the dust settles, Dimitri,” she retorts, shaking her head. “Talk as you like, but you will not change how we think.”

“This was none of your business to begin with,” Hubert cuts in.

“Not my business?” Dimitri snarls. “Five minutes ago, you called me a _whore_ , and then you say it’s _not my business_?”

“You’re not denying it.”

A bitter laugh. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“That’s _enough_ ,” Dedue snaps, louder than he expects it to be, probably—because both the quarterback _and_ the debate goonies are staring at him. For the first time, though, he’s not taking it back. Call it _angry_ , call it _savage_ , but goddess be damned he’s stopped caring about appearances by this point.

He locks his hand into Dimitri’s fingers, shielding him into an embrace with his other arm, and drags him out. Dimitri stumbles over himself as Dedue brings them out of center. The image this must be, of the most famous person at school wrapped in the arms of a guy more than half a foot taller than him like a prince and his knight… thinking of it romantically eases his mind, but not enough to erase the crowd’s cameras from it.

Somehow, they avoided physical violence. Dedue has never been more grateful for Sylvain and Ashe, trying to reason as they did. The former probably just wants to get through this hell day and not so subtly look at Felix’s ass while he practices ( _it’s so blatantly obvious, it’s almost cringe-worthy)_ , but damn well he’d do anything for this team.

Maybe not for Dedue’s sake … he doesn’t know where they stand. But Dimitri unites them, and that’s enough.

They dart towards the empty halls, turning the corner… and Dedue throws his boyfriend into a hug. 

"Thank you,” he whispers, holding him close. “To know that you'd do that for me... I love you, but _please_ , don’t endanger yourself like that for me again.”

Dimitri is silent, but hugs back.

There are many rumors that fill these halls. Tomorrow, when Dedue comes to school that morning, they'll be everywhere. They will spiral; they’ll talk of BBC and _Dedue’s fucking scary_ and _Hubert’s a huge dick_ as if these two can’t hear at all. He doesn’t know how liberal this school is, and frankly, he’s afraid if they’re not.

At least today, he has Dimitri. That's enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After nearly a month of indecision, the long-awaited drama is finally up! Thank you so much for your patience.
> 
> Originally, this scene was written omnipotently, so translating everything into one perspective was a little difficult. Dedue deserves some extra love! Hope we did him justice.
> 
> Admittedly, the chapter was heavily influenced by the height of the social movements that came to prominence during the summer. It was only fitting to address the racism aspect that canonically occurs in-game, but deeper into some of the implications.
> 
> The second perspective of this fight will occur in the next chapter, so stay posted!
> 
> — june


	5. it’s always the short end of the stick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Caspar really hates the debate team. Oh, and he’s on it.

What happens at lunch stays at lunch… or so the story goes. That’s a lie. That’s a fucking lie, and he knows it.

Caspar’s always been the reckless one. He blurts out in the middle of the opponent’s speech, he gets points docked for forgetting his MLA citations, he’s always getting into fist fights outside of school, and don’t even get him started on how many people piss him off on a daily basis. Rash, impulsive, though always well-intended… that’s how people would describe him.

If there’s anything he would consider impulsive, though, it’s whatever Hubert wants with the jocks.

Dimitri came into school wearing Dedue’s jacket this morning. Once the first person noticed, they told their friends who were the second, and soon enough the entire senior class was buzzing about the quarterback’s love life. What, were dudes not allowed to share clothes with each other? He used to leave shit at Linhardt’s all the time when they were younger, but apparently, that’s taboo now for whatever reason.

What he doesn’t understand is why that’s reason enough for Hubert to pick himself up from the Black Eagles table, saunter about towards Dedue, and start ganging up on the poor guy all by himself.

“Did I stutter,” Hubert barks, “or are you just that primitive?”

“Primitive…” Dedue repeats under his breath. 

“What good is it if your beloved quarterback is backlashed because of  _ you _ ?”

Oh,  _ yikes _ , that’s cringy. Caspar is visibly cringing. Linhardt’s half asleep next to him, softly snoring (cute, but not the time) away the building commotion. Petra has only just turned her head, but he can see the color draining out of the face. The rest of them are staring, but silent.

They say in debate, Hubert is ruthless—he delivers his lines with the utmost eloquence, slices halfway into a crossfire in the midst of his opponent’s response, and when they are vulnerable, he chips away at their points one by one until there is nothing left. And the worst part is, they’re right.

So why is no one stopping him? Edelgard looks so calm, sitting there pretty and drinking that bright ass can of LaCroix… out of everyone at the table, why is she letting this slide?

Why are his nerves keeping him in place?

“And if it was our choice?” he hears Dedue say. “What Dimitri and I have is private and of no concern to you—“

“See, this is what I hate. The thing about brown people is that you all just  _ talk _ . It’s  _ always _ the brown people—the very  _ second _ you attach yourself to someone who is fair, you act like you’re suddenly entitled.”

His breath hitches in his throat.

_ What the actual fuck? _

“Edelgard,” Caspar forces himself to pipe up, the anxiety seeping into his voice. “Are you … are you gonna let him keep going? He’s kinda making you look bad.”

He feels a nudge on his foot from where Linhardt is. The yelling probably woke him up, and now in his own subtle way, he’s telling Cas to keep his opinions to himself.  _ Stay out of trouble _ , or something or other, because you don’t just question Edelgard. It’s an unspoken rule among the Black Eagles, but this… he can’t just ignore  _ this _ , whatever  _ this _ is.

The debate team captain closes her eyes, hands over the can. “I want to see how this plays out.”

Ferdinand blows a raspberry. “There’s no need to worry, Caspar. Edelgard knows what she’s doing. Although if it were me, I’d be in there myself.”

And just like that, he’s been ignored. One, Edelgard isn’t gonna heed a warning from ‘the dumbest guy on the team’, and her second lapdog is groveling at her feet again. Goddess,  _ Ferdinand _ . Caspar should’ve expected him to throw in his two cents.

Petra exchanges glances with Dorothea, then Edelgard. “Are you really not stopping this?” she exclaims bitterly. “You condone such speech about  _ anyone _ ?”

The redhead gestures again. “Now, Petra, c’mon ...you know this isn’t about you—“

“By refusing to comment, you’re kind of making it  _ about her _ , Ferdinand,” Linhardt comments from his seat between Caspar and the wall.

Dorothea’s mouth hangs open, a smile of shock and utter disbelief hanging from her lips. “Honestly, it’s  _ already _ about Petra. Dedue mentioned it himself—you guys pretend like she’s not even  _ here _ sometimes, and what if it was her in his place?” 

Ferdinand’s jaw drops. Edelgard shakes her head, Linhardt buries himself back into his book, and hell, Bernadetta hasn’t even said a word.

As if to prove a point, Dorothea nods aggressively. “Right?  _ Right _ .  _ Now  _ you’re all quiet.”

“Dorothea, please,” Ferdinand tries, clearing his throat. “It’s not like we’d ever—“

She sips from her Frappuchino. “But you’ve  _ thought _ about it, right?” 

As they start fighting amongst each other, Caspar stands there, frozen.

He gets it. Hubert’s views align real closely to his family’s. Fódlan has never been kind to people outside their kind, and maybe they never will be. They’ve always treated people from Almyra and Brigid and Duscur as savage barbarians, and maybe once, there was a time he believed it, too...

When he looks at Petra, though, he sees a heart of gold. She wasn’t always the best at Common language. She’d trip up now and then, but he loved explaining idioms and other expressions to her—how her face would light up every time she figured out the new meaning. She’s a really good sparring partner, by the way, and never has she done anything to make herself stand out so negatively other than the fact that she’s not from here.

(The sad part is, that shouldn’t even be in the list.)

He remembers one day when he was so sleep deprived, he nearly fell over in the hallway. Dedue caught him without a second thought and helped him over to the nurse. Junior year and standardized testing did not mesh well whatsoever. Even if they were in different groups, Dedue didn’t hesitate to help him anyway, and he could stand to learn a thing or two from the fullbacker. Caspar may not be officially enlisted in the Blue Lions, but he wouldn’t say he isn’t a sports junkie, either. It’s weird being in that middle ground.

Petra’s a friend. Dedue’s experiences may have been similar to hers, except without the sports and the tall blonde boyfriend. Logically speaking, if he wants to stay afloat, he  _ should _ support a member of the debate team. But he remembers them both, and now…

… he doesn’t know what side he’s on.

“The whore speaks,” Hubert jeers at Dimitri. “You’re defensive because you want to keep him around long enough to sleep another night—“

“Say  _ one more word _ and I’m going to beat your face in!”

“Everyone, calm down. Hubert knows what he’s doing…”

They’re screaming. Petra’s past her limit, Ferdie is desperately trying to bring the simmer down, Bernie is shivering in the corner… and Edelgard, the Edelgard who leads this team, who they all looked up to, is saying  _ nothing _ —

“You… are a  _ bitch _ , Edie, you know that?!”

It happens so fast.

Dorothea crushes her Starbucks cup and hurls the contents in Edelgard’s direction. A series of crys echo from the table as it misses the captain, but spills onto the sides of her Gucci purse. Chunks of ice blended drink spill over the edges of the counter.

“Honey.” Edelgard stands up. “You’ve made a mistake.”

Petra bolts up. “Has she made a mistake? Or have you?” She grabs her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “I believe myself to be smart enough for  _ my kind _ to know that I don’t need to do the dealing with his remarks.”

… well, damn. He was about to raise a fist, but it looks like the brunette got to it first. That, and Petra’s speaking up for herself— _ good on her _ . Considering how airtight Thea and Edelgard were, or at least seemed to be… man, girls are scary.

“You really don’t need more than one conscious thought to understand that he’s in the wrong, Edelgard.” Linhardt’s sleepy drawl breaks through the silence at the table. “Perhaps Dorothea should throw something colder at you, to wake you up a bit more.”

Ferdinand is sputtering out words that hardly go together, but sound somewhere between an apology and a reprimand. None of this is going how they’d planned, and obviously he would’ve handled it better, but for once he understands that this isn’t the time. 

It is utter chaos. Dimitri is trying to strangle Hubert, only held back by Ashe and Sylvain. He figures that’s more than enough manpower, and he’d kick Hubert’s ass—he knows he can, but this guy has more power in the social hierarchy than Caspar can ever hope to give for himself.

“Dimitri, calm down!” 

“Let me  _ go _ , Ashe!”

“C’mon, Dima, pull it together! That emo twig isn’t worth detention…”

That’s it.

“Y’know what?” Caspar shouts angrily, slamming a fist on the table. “She’s right. They all are. I can’t  _ believe _ you just sat here and drank your fancy water while your watchdog is out there causing a scene!”

“And how are you any different, Caspar?” she bites back, raising her eyebrows. “If you were so bothered by the idea, why aren’t you in there yourself?”

“B-Because—!”

Ouch, that hurt. Just as he’s about to come up with a decent response, Edelgard suddenly shifts her leg over the seat. “Wait, are you  _ leaving _ ? Edel— _ Edelgard _ , get back here! I’m not done with you!”

And she rises from the table, joining Hubert on his other side. For some reason, the sparkly vampire looks nervous—good, he should be nervous, but why is he when Edelgard has no intention of telling him off?

This is what he hates about being part of debate. You research, you learn about politics… it  _ should _ be the club with the most civil discourse in the school, and yet it isn’t. As long as there is someone better than you, your argument gets pummeled into dirt. Card after card is crossed out on the flow until you are left with nothing, and that is how Edelgard plays—except she doesn’t let him speak, she  _ never  _ lets him speak, and her supreme authority over the Black Eagles has forced everyone to remain silent.

And Ferdinand, Hubert… the former plays the bystander and pretends nothing is wrong, the latter encourages Edelgard as much as possible, and both of them kiss her feet like she is Sothis herself.

They are the most elitist fucking group in Garreg Mach.

“All you do is follow Edelgard around!” Caspar finds himself yelling—when did he get into this argument) “You and Hubert are  _ literally _ the same person—“

“I resent that, at least I have a fashion sense!”

“This isn’t about your  _ clothes _ , Von Aegir,” Lin retorts. “Do you feel it’s necessary to follow Edelgard around, or do you want your own voice?”

“ **Everybody stop!”**

Bernadetta’s scream is harsh enough to shatter glass, and the room goes quiet.

....

She meeps, then hides away in her usual seat and crouches in on herself. Even if she retreats now, the message is clear—this has gone on for too long. 

Dimitri tears himself away from Hubert. Ashe convinces the quarterback to leave, and Caspar meets his eyes for a moment—whether it’s a thank you, a look of longing, who’s to say. The whispers spread like wildfire through the crowd as Edelgard huffs and puffs walking out of the cafeteria with her purse.

“Thanks for getting everyone to shut up,” he thanks Bernie on his way out. “If you need anywhere quiet, I bet I could find a spot in the library. Cool?”

“O-Oh, um ... thanks, I guess ... uh...!” 

He passes her an apologetic smile as Linhardt elbows him, dragging Caspar away.

—

The next time they meet is not but a few minutes later.

Caspar spots Ashe in the hallway, walking towards him a little faster than normal. He'd left Linhardt in the library with the promise that yes, he'd be Lin's ride home, and is now trying to kill time before their next class period starts.

"Ashe, hey!"

Dimitri and Ashe share a laugh as Caspar comes by (about what, he doesn’t know, but probably shouldn’t ask), and the gray-haired student whistles as a sort of greeting. “Caspar!”

He waves back. One of them seems happy to see him, at least. Dimitri smiles at him, but it’s stiff, and Dedue is already wrapping an arm around as if to protect him. 

(He doesn’t blame them at all.)

Ashe breaks the ice. “Are you okay? That must’ve been hard to watch ...”

"It's... it’s rough. I think it'll take Edelgard about five more minutes before she realizes that when she stood up she got some of Dorothea's coffee in her bag, and then it'll take a turn, but we all knew Hubert was gonna do  _ something _ stupid. None of us thought it would be this, though." He turns to Dedue, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly but looking him in the eyes all the same. "Most of us don't think the way Edelgard and Hubert do. I know I don't. Lin doesn't, and Thea and Petra sure don't. You're a good guy, Dedue, and you didn't deserve that. Nobody does."

Dedue nods and the stoic look he usually has when he's with someone that he's not close with drops slightly—a slight relief.

"I know lunch tables can be worse than politics. I'm not there often, but I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say you all have a place at our table. Mercedes and Annette bring sweets sometimes, though I thank the Goddess they decided to go out today."

“I did wonder where Mercedes and Annette went off to,” Dimitri realizes, blinking once. He does take in the weight of Dedue’s arm around his waist. “But you’re right. I’m glad the girls weren’t here to witness that.”

“Someone’s going to have to explain to them later.” Ashe sighs, scratching the back of his head. “Anyway, thanks for coming out, Caspar. You’re definitely welcome to sit with us any time!”

(Is this recruitmenr? Possibly.)

Dimitri glances towards the Lions, nodding to Caspar as another thanks. “We may as well head to the field early.” He frowns. “I only hope the debate team doesn’t fall into shambles. I wish you the best, Caspar. Good luck.”

The two of them leave. Caspar is staying behind, smiling at Ashe … but as soon as the couple’s out, he sags against the wall.

“I dunno what to do, Ashe... I mean, I don’t  _ want _ to be associated with half of them anymore. Okay, maybe a little less than half, but *still*. Debate team’s all I’ve got in terms of major extracurriculars. And my dad’ll kill me if I quit, but he’ll kill me  _ more _ if I punch Edelgard and break her perfect little nose.”

He runs a hand through his hair. "I just... I don't even wanna  _ go _ to college. I've got an instructor job lined up at that big martial arts academy in the city, and I'm not putting in my college applications. I haven't told my dad, and he's still expecting me to keep up with debate and all that, but…”

Ashe slides down the wall next to him. Judging from his expression, he probably doesn’t know how to help, but that’s fine. “I’m not that smart, so I don’t know much about finding alternates or what the colleges are gonna like. That aside, I get being frustrated with Edelgard, especially after what she said earlier...”

Caspar leans his head back on the wall, running a hand through his hair as much as he can with how cropped it is.

“I can't deal with it, Ashe.” He’s raising his voice more than he should, but fuck it. “I can't deal with stupid fucking Edelgard and her pretentious  _ bullshit _ anymore! Hubert and Ferdinand, too, kissing her ass like it's their fucking  _ job _ . If she's the  _ queen bee _ , then their faces are her throne."

“Their faces are the throne, huh?”

Heels clack against the floor as Edelgard spins around, having returned from the bathroom. “I’d like you to say that to  _ their faces _ next time, then, hm?” 

“Edelgard,  _ please _ ,” Ashe groans. “We don’t want a fight with you. Not after ...  _ that... _ that fiasco in the cafeteria. The show’s over, can you just leave us alone?”

But Caspar— _ Caspar is not having it today _ . "Oh, wow, Edelgard, you  _ care _ about them? Surprising. Maybe you should  _ show it _ ."

Caspar's glaring, his fists clenched as he stares up at Edelgard. She can show emotion for this, but not when someone's making a complete scene?

"Lemme guess, you only do because it's your reputation on the line? Fitting. You don't give a shit about any of us unless we're furthering your goals."

He's still standing behind Ashe, who's now acting as the only barrier between Edelgard and a broken nose. Caspar's just hoping that no matter what, he gets to give her a piece of his mind.

Maybe if he gets suspended, he'll lose his chance at college? 

Easier than  _ talking _ .

“And what would those goals be, Caspar?” she replies coolly, not a single bit phased by his accusations. “I think of what is best for the debate team. Is that so wrong?”

“Caspar,  _ stop it _ ,” Ashe whisper-hisses, nudging him with his shoulder.

Edelgard puffs her chests, looking down upon Caspar with her head raised. “I’m not wasting my precious time on you. If you’re planning on dropping out, be my guest.”

"You're damn right I'm dropping out!” he yells after her, even if she’s not listening. “And I'm sure everyone else is too! Maybe if you cared more about  _ people _ than the state of your bag, we'd be staying!"

If she cared more about her classmates, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. If Caspar stood up to her before, they wouldn’t have had this conversation. He waited this long, and now she has even more reason to rub salt into the wound.

He’s used to being left behind. He’s used to people leaving because someone didn't want to deal with him or didn't agree with him, but  _ fuck _ does it still kind of hurt. He thought he was done with that when he joined debate, but apparently true and long-lasting happiness will evade him—and if speaking out against the crowd means losing that, then it forces him to compromise his ideals all over again.

No matter how much he refuses to admit it, he’s a coward.

He feels Ashe place a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you ... Caspar, are you being serious? I know this isn’t the best situation, but you love debate ...”

“Fuck debate,” he grumbles.

Ashe purses his lips inward. “Need some water?”

“... yeah.”

He’s handed that spare water bottle, and he chugs it down as soon as he can snap the lid open. The water cools his body, but not his temper, not whatever anger is still boiling in his blood over his powerlessness in this fucked up system they call social life.

If he could drown his feelings in it, too, he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half of the cafeteria fight, from the perspective of Caspar! Because not everyone is a guilty party, right? Or in some ways, everyone is. Who knows.
> 
> When we originally wrote the Black Eagles, debate was the most convenient label, but I’ve actually gotten to participate in some speech and debate tournaments since then. If you recognized some of those terms, extra brownie points.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who waited patiently for the next update! It makes my day to see those who are still reading, and I really want to make this whole entire fic happen.
> 
> Next up is another ship... any guesses? Leave in the comments!
> 
> — june

**Author's Note:**

> After months of this sitting around in our drafts, we’ve finally gotten it published!
> 
> We are gracie & june, cowriters of the series, and we’re super excited to be part of the community! We’ve been reading other works as guests for quite some time, but becoming authors is going to be an entirely different experience. Though we have some other one-shots on the back burner, this is the biggest project we’ve taken on, so there’s going to be a lot more in the future. As for how long it’ll end up being, we’re not quite sure yet.
> 
> Updates will be every week or so, though multiple chapters may come out depending on our schedules.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this far, and we hope you’ll stick around.
> 
> — gracie & june


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